


Deprived Of Every Planet

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: Deprived Of Every Planet [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, touchstarved!Dean, which is canon Dean to me but I'm tagging it for the sake of tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's breathing is audible in the scant space between them, irregular. The motel room is dark, pale blue shadows falling in through the gaps in the blinds. Throwing a pattern of uneven white stripes over the bunched up covers. Over Dean's fingers twisted in the sheets. One half of him in shadow, softened by the dark. The heat of his skin. The tremble of him under Castiel's touch.</p><p>He caresses a hand over Dean's chest, slowly. Dean's mouth falls open, his body arching into Castiel's touch. Castiel stops over Dean's heart. Through the fever of his desire, he rejoices about the wonder of experiencing another's heartbeat through one's own senses. </p><p>Dean gasps, but then he turns his face away and towards the dark. Eyes closed tight and brows furrowed like something is hurting him. </p><p>Castiel stills.</p><p>“Dean?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deprived Of Every Planet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirrofarfalla (singsilverlight)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pirrofarfalla+%28singsilverlight%29).



> For my dear friend Lexa :) For always being there.

 

 

 

 

_the holy ones_

_they say there will be light_

 

 

 

 

 

Dean's breathing is audible in the scant space between them, irregular. The motel room is dark, pale blue shadows falling in through the gaps in the blinds. Throwing a pattern of uneven white stripes over the bunched up covers. Over Dean's fingers twisted in the sheets. One half of him in shadow, softened by the dark. The heat of his skin. The tremble of him under Castiel's touch.

He caresses a hand over Dean's chest, slowly. Dean's mouth falls open, his body arching into Castiel's touch. Castiel stops over Dean's heart. Through the fever of his desire, he rejoices about the wonder of experiencing another's heartbeat through one's own senses.

Dean gasps, but then he turns his face away and towards the dark. Eyes closed tight and brows furrowed like something is hurting him.

Castiel stills.

“Dean?”

They're both still fully clothed, and yet Dean's body was quivering under Castiel's hands. But now, Dean's expression is lost in the dark, his muscles tensing minutely.

Dean reaches a hand up, squeezes Castiel's, briefly. Then pushes it gently but firmly away. Dean's hands are cold.

Dean rolls onto his side, towards the edge of the bed. Away from the lights. “S-sorry,” he whispers, rough. Sounding choked. With his back to Castiel, shoulders hunched and arms tucked tight against his chest.

Castiel regards him. Frustration, worry and confusion are making his skin crawl. His breathing slows down, the warmth from Dean's proximity leaving him quickly. He reaches out a hand, but stops short of touching his fingers to the long line of Dean's back. Withdraws it, leans his whole body back and makes the mattress move with the shift of his weight.

“You don't have to apologize,” he says, softly. Dean doesn't move, doesn't answer. He never does, when this happens. Castiel refuses to push him. But he'd like to understand.

Just minutes earlier, when he'd pressed Dean down into the cool sheets and kissed him, slow and deep, Dean had clung to his shoulders. Sighed, when Castiel cupped his cheeks and stroked his hands down Dean's sides.

And now, Dean has moved away as far as the bed allows. Is curled together and still and silent.

So close, in one moment, that Castiel could feel the frantic beat of his heart, and so far away in the next like they'd never begun to close the distance between them at all.

Castiel lies down. Not completely on the other side of the bed, but leaving an arm's length of space between himself and Dean.

He watches the dark and unmoving shape of Dean until he falls asleep.

>

The next morning, he is alone.

For a moment, he just lies there. Listens to the quiet. The cheap digital clock on the nightstand says it's past 7:30AM. There's a plastic container with a sandwich and a cup of coffee-to-go sitting next to it. Castiel drags himself into a sitting position, reaches for the coffee. It smells faintly of cinnamon. He can't even remember if there was a coffee shop nearby. Dean must have gotten up quite early to get it.

He wraps his hands around the cup, revels in the warmth.

In his sleep, he'd rolled further towards the middle of the mattress. At the end of the bed, the covers are pressed down like someone had been sitting there for a while. Castiel stares at the imprint, an ache spreading through his chest.

He gets ready quickly, his thoughts on anything but what he is doing. Almost forgets to turn off the light in the bathroom, to throw his empty cup into the trash. Curses the human brain for its limited ability to multi-task. He gives back his key card at the counter, the clerk eyeing him warily and not replying when he wishes him a good day. He steps outside, jacket still open despite the crisp cold of early morning, his bag thrown over his shoulder. Dean is in the parking lot leaning against the Impala, holding a cup but not drinking from it. Shoulders hunched against the cold, staring at somewhere off to his left, his expression grave and far away.

Castiel has almost reached him by the time Dean notices him. His features soften with a small smile, but his eyes stay sad. “Did you – ” Dean begins to ask, then abruptly cuts himself off, looks to his feet and clears his throat. “You ready to go?” he redirects, shifting against the side of the car, arms crossed over his chest. Castiel hesitates for a moment. Peers into Dean's eyes, the green at once vibrant and muted in the morning light. He could insist on talking this out. But he has learned how patience will get him farther with Dean than demanding answers before Dean is ready to give them. Castiel knows he is one of the very few people Dean trusts to understand, and to still be there and listen when he wants to talk.

“Yes,” he says simply, breath forming a white mist in the cold air and hanging between them for a moment before dissipating. Dean nods jerkily, gaze somewhere off to the side again. But he doesn't move for another moment, just stands there. Castiel would like to reach out and touch Dean's side. Cradle his jaw and touch a thumb to the corner of Dean's mouth to find out where his smile disappeared to. Dean looks pale, and like he has hasn't slept. Castiel wonders how long he has been standing here.

Dean sighs, pushes away from the car. Crumbles the apparently empty coffee cup in one fist and throws it into the trash can near them while walking over to the driver's side. Castiel stands outside a moment longer, casts his gaze around the almost empty parking lot. The inside of the car is cold when he settles into the shotgun seat. Dean turns the engine over, looks over his shoulder while he backs out of the parking space.

Castiel turns towards him once they're on the road, “Can I turn up the heat?”

Any other day Dean's mouth might have twitched at that, followed by a suggestive comment. Now, Dean barely glances at him when he answers, “Sure, go for it.”

Once they reach the highway, Dean seems to relax somewhat. He shifts in his seat, takes one hand off the steering wheel to rest it on his thigh.

Castiel thinks he could squeeze Dean's hand, just briefly. But he doesn't know if that would be the right thing to do right now. He looks out the window. He feels tense, and frustrated with himself. His fingertips still tingle with the memory of Dean. The fever of last night, when he came so close to running his hands up Dean's bowed thighs, to mouthing at the shape of him through his jeans. He _wants_ Dean.

He takes a deep breath of the dry air the heater is pushing back at him, and curls his fingers over his knees.

>

It was a little over two months ago after a case. A feud between two rivaling werewolf packs in Montana had led to one of them getting almost completely wiped out by the other. The only survivor they had found was a girl looking around five years old – second generation, apparently. She had wedged herself between the debris of the destroyed porch of what had once been her home and refused to come out. The carnage inside the house had likely overpowered her scent.

Dean had crouched down in front of her hiding place, asked her name. Smiled softly, even when she didn't answer for a long time. Dean stayed with her for hours while Castiel checked their surroundings to make sure they weren't going to get ambushed. She finally crawled out and into Dean's arms when the night fell. Clung to him and kept asking for her mother. Earlier, he and Dean had gotten in through the back door. The female werewolf who had likely been the girl's mother had been lying on the floor with her chest torn open. Dean hugged the girl tighter and didn't answer, face turned away. When the headlights of Garth's car finally cut through the dark, Bess had to almost pry the girl out of Dean's arms, so tightly had she twisted her fingers into his jacket. Even from outside Garth's car, her crying had been audible.

The moment the car pulled away from them, Dean had grown tense beside him. Castiel was only able to catch his gaze once, but whatever emotion Dean was feeling was backed away behind his eyes. The ride back to the motel was silent, and a blur in Castiel's memory. Dean carried the bags with their weapons inside the room, and then turned and walked right back out again without a word. Castiel had been too uncertain to stop him, and numb and saddened from the day's events. He'd stood in the motel room and listened for the familiar sound of the Impala's engine, but it never came.

He took a long shower, forced himself to eat something although it tasted of nothing and was hard to swallow. Since Dean preferred to be close to the door, Castiel chose the bed under the window. It was dark and he had already been asleep for a while when Dean finally returned. Blearily, Castiel blinked his eyes open and watched the dark shape of Dean silently close the door again. Dean didn't turn on the light. Just struggled out of his boots, and then stood in front of his bed for a long moment, seeming to stare down on it. And then he'd turned from it and walked over to Castiel's, still obviously trying to be quiet. Sat down on the edge of it, and then lied down there, curled up and with his back to Castiel.

For a long time, Castiel didn't dare move. Caught between surprise and worry. Dean didn't smell of alcohol, just faintly of the cold outside. He hadn't taken any covers with him, but was hugging his jacket around himself like he was freezing. And then Castiel became aware of how the sheets seemed to be shaking around Dean, despite how still he was lying.

Castiel had risen up on one elbow, carefully inched closer and laid a hand softly on Dean's upper arm.

“Hey...”

Dean had drawn in a sharp breath at that, and clung to Castiel's hand with a grip so tight as to be almost desperate. He buried his face further into the sheets, but didn't move away when Castiel carefully laid down behind him. He positioned one arm above Dean's head, and Dean pulled the other against his chest, a move that pressed Castiel flush against him. He froze for a moment, then settled against Dean, forehead against his shoulder blade and fingers of his hand splayed out over Dean's heart. Castiel closed his eyes but didn't sleep for a long time after that, while Dean continued to cry soundlessly in his hold.

In the pale hours of the morning, Castiel woke up when Dean's grip on his hand finally got lax as he slipped into a deeper sleep. Carefully, he extracted his arm and sat up. Pulled the covers up and over Dean's legs to keep him warm in lieu of Castiel's body heat.

For a moment, he just sat there and watched Dean. The tear tracks down his cheeks had long since dried, his features slack. He looked utterly exhausted.

Castiel's heart missed a beat, and then send little pinpricks of pain through his chest. He resisted the urge to reach out a hand and smooth it down Dean's arm. Earlier, his touch had seemed to give Dean some comfort. But he didn't want to wake him.

Quietly, he'd dressed and walked over to the gas station to get coffee and sandwiches for the both of them. Dean was awake when he came back, sitting up and rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. He froze when Castiel entered, and for a long moment they just stared at each other. Then Dean jumped up from the bed and brushed past Castiel, avoiding his eyes and muttering about needing something from the car. He came back empty handed and still avoiding Castiel's eyes, barely touched the food Castiel had brought back for him. And then, in the parking lot, he stopped Castiel with a touch to his arm. The contact was so hesitant and fleeting, Castiel could barely feel it at all. Dean had stopped walking, and Castiel turned around to look at him. The sky was overcast and gray, the air already colder than the day before. Dean shifted on his feet, gaze flickering around although there was nothing to see but ugly walls and bare concrete.

Castiel waited, but then gently inquired when Dean only continued to stand there, “Dean, what is it?”

Dean finally drew in a breath and squared his shoulders, visibly forcing himself to meet Castiel's eyes. He opened his mouth, but then seemed unable to speak. He looked so intensely afraid Castiel took a step closer, automatically trying to shield him in some way. Dean's gaze dropped from Castiel's eyes to somewhere lower, then fell completely away. His jaw tensed in an expression of anger or frustration. Abruptly, Dean turned away and side-stepped him, continued walking.

It didn't click with Castiel until Dean was already several feet away. The words directed at Dean's back, quiet and wavering with uncertainty.

“Were you going to kiss me?”

Dean slowed down and finally stopped completely. Leaned against the Impala with his arms, his head hung low, taking several deep breaths. Castiel walked up to him slowly, wary of getting too close and aggravating Dean's obvious distress.

When Dean finally turned towards him his eyes were dry but red. “Yeah,” he told the ground, the empty space between them, “Yeah, I was.” His voice low, sad. Like even with just saying that, he was already admitting defeat.

Castiel moved closer. All the way into Dean's space, who tensed but didn't shift away.

He'd searched Dean's eyes, heart beating in his throat. “Can I ?”

Dean nodded numbly, breath audibly hitching when Castiel cupped his cheek in one hand. Dean's mouth against his was soft, so warm. Still, Castiel pulled away after just a short moment. Dean didn't look any less afraid, but finally there was some color on his cheeks, light behind his eyes. His mouth was slightly open, and he was watching Castiel, stunned and dazed.

Reluctantly, Castiel removed his hand. Took a step back.

Dean's eyes were raking his face, searching for something. Castiel bore his scrutiny, and didn't question him when Dean shifted on his feet and turned his face away. Dean cleared his throat, jerked his head towards the car. “We should get going.”

Dean didn't turn the music on. For half an hour, they drove in complete silence bar the noise of the road, and then Dean abruptly signaled and parked the car on the shoulder of the road. Castiel had looked at him, his barely slowed down heartbeat immediately picking up speed again. His mouth still tingled faintly, and he'd been pressing the flat of his hands against his thighs to keep them still. For another moment, the ticking of the slowly cooling engine was the only sound. Then Dean exhaled, spoke thickly and as if through clenched teeth, “Did you do that because I wanted to?”

He wasn't looking at Castiel again, and he sounded almost angry. But there was something else, something behind the anger. Dean's shoulders were tense and his jaw set in a way as if he were readying himself for an inevitable attack.

“Yes,” Castiel finally answered, sincere. “And because I wanted to.”

Dean whipped his head around, stared at him. His chest was rising and falling fast, like he was running instead of sitting still. Abruptly, he turned, opened his door, froze. Shut it again, leaned an elbow against the steering wheel and rubbed at his eyes.

“I don't just want that, Cas,” he'd ground out, rough. Like it was terrible, a thing that was going to raze cities to the ground and blacken the sky. “I want – ”

All of you, Castiel finished for him in thought. All there is to have.

He swallowed heavily, “Dean, we can do that.”

Dean had made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, nodded his head jerkily. He still didn't look over when he turned the key in the ignition, but the tense line of his shoulders had relaxed somewhat. After a few more miles, he exhaled on a sigh. Finally met Castiel's eyes, and smiled.

>

Now, Castiel looks at Dean, and he looks calm. But not happy.

He has an expression on his face like he's just lost an argument, but accepts the consequences. Just that the only person Dean has been arguing with is Dean himself. And Dean is so very unfair to himself.

Dean still makes these jokes, how Castiel and Sam are 'the brains of this operation', the ones who think. When Castiel has come to the conclusion that Dean is the one who is constantly thinking, and thinking so much he traps himself within it.

Castiel remembers this very same expression from the day he had first kissed Dean. How it meant Dean had been thinking about it, over and over, and already concluded Castiel could never want Dean kissing him. That it's not something Dean can ever have, ever deserve.

Castiel knows he can't attack pain. He knows how pain is the one constant in Dean's life, the one thing the world keeps giving to him but rarely takes away.

He looks at Dean, who is lost in thought, closed-off and lonely. Dean radiates a need for distance and reassurance at the same time, and Castiel is at a loss at how to act. At how to differentiate what is the smoke, and what is the mirror.

“You're making that face again.”

Startled, Castiel meets Dean's gaze, who is looking at him with a slight smile but with worry in his eyes.

Castiel frowns, thrown off track. He still forgets how observant Dean is, even when he's troubled with his own thoughts.

“What face?”

His voice comes out petulant, and Dean's mouth ticks up at one corner. Dean's watching the road again, but answers “The one from three days ago, when you wanted cereal and realized you'd forgotten to buy it.”

Castiel stares at him. Consciously, he deepens his frown, “That's not what I want, Dean.”

And, finally, Dean's face lights up, he laughs. Throws a glance at Castiel, eyes full of mirth, “It's not?”

Flirting isn't something Castiel feels he will ever grasp. At least he mostly recognizes it by now when Dean does it.

“No,” he answers, softly. Keeps his eyes on Dean while he says it. Dean glances at him again, the playful expression on his face slipping into one of uncertainty.

And just like that, the lightness of the moment dissipates and is replaced again by tension. Dean looks back at the road, exhales on a sigh.

“Cas,” he starts, but then trails off. He looks frustrated again, like he's debating whether to say something or not.

Castiel shakes his head, “Dean, we don't have to – ”

Dean inhales sharply, grits out, sounding pained, “Cas, can we talk about this later.”

Castiel's chest feels heavy, but he nods. He wants Dean to trust him, to know that he will be there. The tension between them doesn't quite leave for the rest of the drive, but Dean shifts in his seat after a few minutes, asks neutrally, “Let's go over the details again?”

>

This is their second case in a row. Sam had called Dean the day before to ask if they could make a detour and have a look since it wasn't far from their location and no other hunters were in the area.

“It's probably just a salt and burn,” Castiel had heard Sam reassure over the phone, Dean sitting opposite him in a corner booth and nursing a cup of watery coffee.

Dean rolled his eyes, “I think we can manage not to set ourselves on fire, thank you.”

Castiel had shifted in his seat at the words, turned his head to watch the people file in and out the parking lot. When they had left the bunker early in the morning, Dean had interrupted him mid-speech to crowd him against the side of the car and kiss him into silence. He'd looked smug at the resulting dazed look on Castiel's face. And yet, they're still sleeping in separate rooms. They only share a bed in motels, sometimes. And only twice before have they been close, has Dean let Castiel press him into the sheets and caress his skin.

Just like during Sam's phone call, Castiel now forces himself to focus on the case. “Amanda Dolbeare, her sister went missing three months ago, probably drowned in the wild river. Amanda claims her kitchen has been flooded three times this week. Neighbors heard her screaming and called the police, but they found no sign of forced entry or even water damage. Amanda lives alone, no kids and no living relatives.”

Dean nods, switches lanes.

“We have an appointment with her at two,” Castiel continues. “You talk to her, I check the place out.”

They take the next exit off the highway, rumble into a small town with nice, big houses. The motel they finally stop in front of looks tiny and uncomfortable by comparison. Dean appears too used to it to notice. He gets their bags and the suits out of the car with practiced ease while Castiel leaves to get them a room. He gets them a double, like usual. Watches the clerk feed their – fake – names into the PC, who curses under his breath when he repeatedly mistypes. In the bunker, Dean never even comes into Castiel's room for – anything intimate. Castiel understands it's not uncommon for people to take these things slow. It's been three months; he doesn't know if that is a long or a short time in this context. All he knows is how Dean had trembled under him, leaned into every caress and twisted his fingers into Castiel's clothes as if fearing to lose his touch at any moment. And yet he never asks Castiel to kiss him, rarely initiates anything on his own.

Their key cards clatter onto the counter. “Have a nice day,” the clerk drawls around a mouthful of gum, already turning his back to Castiel.

Dean takes a quick shower while Castiel already changes into his suit. He supposes after wearing one for years, he should be more used to them. And he is. The problem is more that he has come to notice how suits look on Dean, and it's. Somewhat of a distraction. He tries not to look when Dean comes out of the shower, fumbles around with the EMF-meter. Until suddenly Dean is in front of him, barefoot and in his shirtsleeves, “Hey, your collar's unbuttoned.”

Castiel's head jerks up, and then he goes still when Dean fiddles with the buttons, the warm and slightly damp skin of his fingers brushing against Castiel's throat. Dean's eyes are on his shirtfront, his hair is still wet and standing up in spikes. He smells fresh and like the cheap flowery motel soap. Castiel's mouth is dry, his fingers twitch around the EMF-meter. Dean does the final button up, smoothes Castiel's tie down. His eyes briefly meet Castiel's, mouth quirking into a slight smile, “Good to go.”

He makes to step away and Castiel follows, mindless, stops him by holding onto his sleeve. Dean turns, looking surprised, “What's wrong?”

“Can – can I kiss you?”

Dean's puzzled expression softens, he steps back into Castiel's space. Studies him for a moment, that playful spark back in his eyes.

“Well?”

Castiel presses his mouth against Dean's, slow and gentle. He instantly revels in the warmth of it, the softness. The slight electrified shiver that runs down to the small of his back. The heat of Dean's body so close to his, and the way Dean's breath hits the side of his face. He's just about to withdraw again when Dean opens his mouth under Castiel's, cants his head further to one side. He presses in without thinking, pushes even closer when Dean moans and shuffles his feet further apart. Takes Dean's face between his hands, softly, continues to kiss him deep and slow. Dean shivers against him, his breathing audibly hitching. He's holding onto Castiel by twisting his fingers into the fabric covering Castiel's arms, makes a quiet and vulnerable sound in the back of his throat.

When Castiel finally and reluctantly pulls away to let them both catch their breath, Dean's cheeks are flushed and Castiel can feel Dean's ribcage rise and fall quickly. Dean's eyes blink open slowly, he leans forward as if to reclaim Castiel's mouth. Then hesitates, finally just rests his forehead against Castiel's temple. “We, uh. We gotta go.”

Dean doesn't let go though. When Castiel withdraws his hands, Dean only shifts to press his cheek against Castiel's, and continues holding onto his jacket. Castiel stills, unwilling to dislodge Dean if slightly confused at the sudden clinginess.

“Dean?” He asks, caresses a hand down Dean's side as far as Dean's hold allows him to go. Dean draws in a breath, then steps back. He makes a grimace at the state of Castiel's jacket, “Sorry,” awkwardly attempts to smooth over the wrinkles. Castiel just watches him do it, the careful and lingering touch of Dean's hands at odds with the guilty and uncertain expression on his face.

“It's fine,” Castiel says, trying for reassuring.

Dean nods but doesn't stop right away. When he finally lets go, he only meets Castiel's eyes briefly, almost nervously, before turning away and hurriedly finishing to dress himself. The tension from this morning is back in his shoulders. Castiel can't be sure if it's because of the upcoming meeting with Ms Dolbeare or because of what they just did. He tries to focus on the case, but all the way to Ms Dolbeare's house the feeling of Dean holding onto him lingers on his skin. The way Dean had responded to his touch, his unwillingness to let Castiel go. It makes want rise in Castiel again, as well as a fierce protectiveness. Dean's cheeks color when he finally notices Castiel staring at him; he clears his throat and pointedly keeps his eyes on the road.

The house they pull up at is mint-colored, a garden with herbs and flowers in front of it and a path of sand-colored stones leading to the door. Everything looks like it used to be well-cared for, but now there are dried leaves covering the rosemary, the windows are smeared and dusty, all the curtains pulled closed.

Ms Dolbeare looks small and fragile in the dim entryway to her house, holding onto the door with both her hands as if struggling to keep standing on her own. She's wearing a woolen cardigan and has bags under her eyes, her blonde hair thin and dirty. Dean's voice instantly drops to a quiet and soothing tone, tucking his badge away and promising they'll be leaving her in peace after just a few questions.

The inside of the house is almost as dim as the entryway; what light comes in is filtered through the pale blue curtains, giving the rooms an underwater feeling. Watching their host move clumsily between the furniture like she's barely aware of it, Castiel feels like he can barely draw breath around the weight of her grief in the air.

He consciously relaxes his muscles, redirects his thoughts. Briefly meets Dean's eyes when Dean sits down in an armchair at Ms Dolbeare's side, and then heads towards the kitchen. The EMF-meter starts its whine as soon as he flips the switch. It gets louder the closer he comes to the tab at the sink. A few dirty mugs are stacked beside it. Ms Dolbeare's voice drifts over from the living room, “ – dried up a couple days ago. But the floor, the cupboards, _everything_ , it was flooded, _flooded_ you understand me!”

Then Dean's deeper voice interjects, soothing, “Hey, hey, take it easy – ”

Castiel touches a finger to the underside of the tab, then the sink. Both are dry. He looks around, and the kitchen doesn't show any signs of water damage anywhere. Quietly, he goes upstairs, leaves the sounds of sniffling and hushed voices behind. He finds the room of Ms Dolbeare's sister easily. It's the only one with a closed door. The room behind it looks like someone just left it; a few items of clothing strewn over the unmade bed and a book on the floor beside it, its pages facing the carpet. Surfaces are covered in dust, the window is closed. Castiel fights the urge to sneeze, inspects a few photographs lined up on one wall. The EMF-meter stays silent.

>

“ – find her! You have to –”

“Hey, hey. Breathe for me, okay? Just breathe.”

Ms Dolbeare is slumped over in her seat, hands buried in her hair, a tissue box balanced precariously on her knees. Dean is crouched down in front of her, gently holding her by the shoulders. Castiel stops in the entry to the living room, hesitant. Dean is still talking to her when suddenly she pitches forward, buries her face in Dean's shoulder and clutches at Dean's back, sobbing. Dean freezes for a moment, then brings his arms up to rub circles into her back.

>

When she finally sees them out, Ms Dolbeare is avoiding looking either of them in the eyes. Embarrassment briefly flickers over her features before it's replaced by grief induced stupor again. Their parting words barely seem to register with her. Dean makes an abortive movement as if to reach for her arm, but then withdraws his hand. Briefly meets Castiel's eyes and jerks his head towards the car.

“There was EMF in the kitchen but nowhere else,” Castiel says while Dean turns the engine over, eases the car onto the street. Dean nods, “Makes sense. She told me they'd always have coffee together in the kitchen before the sister went hiking.”

Castiel watches the house disappear when they turn a corner, “Why do you think she's haunting her?”

Dean shakes his head, “I don't think she is, not really. They were really close. And although she gave Amanda a scare, nothing got damaged. She didn't wanna hurt her. I think she wanted to tell her sister where she is.”

Castiel turns his head to look at Dean. “You think she's in the river.”

Dean nods again, “The current is pretty strong, it might've swept her under. And the stuff with the kitchen didn't start until a week ago. Maybe her body got dislodged and she wanted her sister to know, so she could find her.”

The image of Ms Dolbeare hugging her arms around herself while she stood alone in the doorway rises in Castiel's mind. The fabric covering Dean's right shoulder is still darkened with her tears. He's not sure what his face is doing, but Dean must see something there when he throws him a glance and interpret it right. “Sometimes that makes it easier for people to – let go,” he explains. “When they have proof.”

Dean's expression briefly becomes sad and far-away, but then he smiles at Castiel, even though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“You wanna grab a bite before we go explorin'?”

>

An hour later, they have both changed back into their regular clothes and Dean is parking the car on the shoulder of the road. The hazy clouds from earlier this morning have lifted, the breeze soft and cool. Castiel stands beside the trunk while Dean shoves salt and accelerant into one of their bags. The trail starts just a couple of feet away from them, leading towards where the water is sparkling through the trees. No one else is around, and it's silent except for the wind and the cries of birds.

Dean slams the trunk shut, moves to stand at Castiel's side. He adjusts the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder, holds the EMF-meter out to Castiel. “Ready?”

Dean's eyes are even more impossibly green in the sunlight. For a brief moment, Castiel wishes they were here for something other than searching for the body of a drowned woman. Then feels instantly guilty at his own thoughts. Dean claps Castiel on the shoulder when he takes the EMF-meter, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

They walk for about three hours, the light already fading when the EMF-meter flares up. Dean had suggested they leave it on; since Amanda's sister wanted to be found, it made sense she would be close to the body. They walk back and forth along the side of the river for a few minutes until Castiel spots a shape behind a large bolder that looked like floating debris from afar. Dean steps around it and into the shallow water, carefully drags the barely recognizable mess of bones, hair, ripped clothing and aquatic plants out of the river and onto the stony shore.

They stand there looking down at her remains for a moment, then Dean curses softly under his breath, gaze flickering from her bones to the the bag he'd brought and back. It might be enough that they've found her, but it's been three months. If they don't burn her bones, and she –

Abruptly, the temperature drops several more degrees, the EMF-meter flaring to life again. Dean tenses at Castiel's side, reaches behind himself for his shotgun. The ghost of Amanda Dolbeare's sister is crouched on top of a flat stone a few feet away from them, surrounded by water. She's holding a camera in her hands, pointed at a white bird sitting perched an arm's length away from her. The bird jerks its head in her direction, distressed, then flies off. Amanda's sister sighs, stands up and turns towards them.

She has a crooked smile on her face, “It's just as hard as before. Somehow they know I'm here.”

Slowly, she comes closer, using the stones as footholds even though she doesn't have to. Amanda's sister is of broader built than her, more muscular. Her blond hair falls in thick curly waves down her back where Amanda's had been straight and thin. But the crinkles at the corners of her eyes and the shape of her hands are the same.

She stops a few paces away from them, on the last stone separating river and dry land.

“I'm stuck, I think,” she says, still smiling softly though now there's sadness in her eyes. She's looking in their direction but not quite at either of them, gaze directed at somewhere behind them. “I can see light sometimes, but I can't reach it.”

Dean lowers the shotgun, though his body is still angled in a way as to shield Castiel in a moment's notice.

“It must be because I ran, at first. I couldn't leave her not knowing,” she continues, focus wavering and her shape flickering for a moment. Behind her, the setting sun adds an amber glow to the water, a flock of birds flying off and away towards the trees.

With a visible effort, she focuses on them again, “You have to burn it, don't you?”

At Castiel's nod, she makes a motion as if squaring her shoulders, “Do it.”

Dean sighs, crouches down to get the accelerant out of the bag, shotgun clattering onto the stones. He clears his throat, asks without looking up, “Cas, help me get some dry wood?”

Castiel knows it's not necessary, but he helps Dean built a small pyre without commenting on it. Amanda's sister doesn't watch them. Her gaze remains trained on the setting sun, slices of orange light cutting through her flickering form.

Dean hesitates when he holds a burning matchstick over her bones. “This is. Probably going to hurt, I'm sorry.”

Amanda's sister closes her eyes, nods.

The matchstick falls.

Flames lick at her shape, and she seems to shudder, makes a noise as if sucking in a breath. But when she turns towards them a last time, her face is clear of pain. She smiles, eyes far away, and then disintegrates into light and fades away.

>

Despite the encroaching darkness, they stand for a while and watch the fire burn down. Castiel is watching the sky change color over the horizon when Dean shifts beside him, clears his throat. Dean is looking at the flames when Castiel turns towards him, an oddly shy expression on his face.

“You know, that – what you were going to do. I always want that.”

It takes Castiel a moment to connect Dean's words to the night before, when he had stroked his hands over Dean's chest and kissed him. Castiel moves closer, indicating he's listening. Dean throws him a nervous glance, “I just get – I don't know. Scared, I guess.” He shifts his weight and looks away, a contrite expression on his face.

Hesitantly, Castiel lays a hand on Dean's arm, tightens his hold when Dean sighs and leans into it. “You're allowed to want things from me, Dean. Just as you're allowed to take whatever time you need.”

Dean scoffs, shakes his head. He's still not looking at Castiel, his voice rough and subdued. “I'm not exactly a role model for healthy relationships, Cas. _Even_ when I try.”

Castiel moves to stand slightly more in front of Dean, trying to catch his eyes. “Then we try together. I know I haven't always – ” He breaks himself off, guilt rising for a moment before he manages to push through it. “I want you to feel safe with me, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a breath of laughter, his eyes shining wetly when they finally meet Castiel's. “You sound like a Lifetime movie, Cas.”

Castiel smiles at the words but doesn't counter, wanting for Dean to be able to read the sincerity on his face. After another moment of him studying Castiel, Dean sighs, shoulders finally losing their tension. His gaze falls away and towards the ground. “I'm sorry. I must make for a pretty bad – ” he vaguely gestures at all of himself, “ _whatever_.”

Castiel shakes his head, feels fondness spread through him. “That's not true.” He steps closer, slips his hands under Dean's jacket to caress them down his sides. Dean gasps, then laughs breathlessly, “Dude, your hands are icicles. Let's get outta here.”

>

They're both exhausted by the time they reach the car, slowed down by having nothing but their flashlights as illumination. Dean makes a call to the police when they've reached the parking lot, hangs up when they ask for his name. “We better get a room next town over, before they start asking questions.”

Castiel watches the street lights flash by on the ride over, falls asleep in the passenger seat for a while. He jolts awake again when the car stops, blearily pushes his door open. He's already started towards the office when Dean clears his throat behind him. Dean's not quite looking at him when Castiel turns, fumbling with something in the trunk. “Could you, uh. Ask for a king?”

Castiel's mouth suddenly feels dry, his heart missing a beat and then jumping to pound faster in his chest. Dean finally throws him a glance, and he nods, mutely.

They take turns showering. The hot water soothes Castiel's muscles, but by the time he crawls under the covers he feels tense again, almost nervous. Dean doesn't seem to fare much better. He almost trips on his way out of the bathroom, studiously avoids even looking in Castiel's direction. He slips under the covers in t-shirt and underwear, immediately turns his back to Castiel to lie down on his side. And then holds his hand out for Castiel to take, uses it to draw Castiel closer. Lets go off it once Castiel is wrapped around him from behind, sighs contentedly and relaxes into the sheets.

Castiel rests his forehead against Dean's back, slowly starts caressing a hand up and down Dean's arm. “Is that okay?” Dean makes a soft affirmative noise, leans back in Castiel's hold. Within minutes, he's asleep.

Castiel lies awake for a while, listens to Dean's breathing. Thinks about Dean's earlier words, the blend of fear and shame in his expression. Not fear of Castiel hurting Dean, but of losing Castiel's touch. Of Castiel choosing to stop touching Dean, because Dean might inevitably ask for too much. Which is why Dean never asks for it. By revealing himself like this, Dean would make himself too vulnerable. And Dean is ashamed of these fears.

Castiel softly rubs over the back of Dean's hand, loosely entwines their fingers. Everything Dean has – his soul, his body, the people he calls family, his urge to save others – has been taken advantage of and used against him at some point. Castiel will have to show himself trustworthy of keeping the boundaries Dean sets. He will have to learn Dean, as he has done since he first met him.

Pulled under by the gentle rise and fall of Dean's chest, he sleeps.

>

The next morning, Dean is still asleep when he wakes. Dean has changed position in his sleep, his body now turned towards Castiel. The curtains aren't closed all the way, and a sliver of pale sunlight falls over Dean's shoulders and half his face. Castiel is tempted to touch a hand to his jaw, kiss the skin under his eyes. But it's rare for Dean to sleep for more than five or six hours, much less this soundly. Castiel is about to get up, see if he can get them some breakfast, then hesitates. The last time, he left Dean to wake up alone. It doesn't feel right.

The way Castiel moved has made the sunlight fall fully onto Dean's face. He twitches, blinks his eyes open hazily. Castiel leans over, softly kisses Dean's cheekbone. “Good morning.”

Dean is smiling when he draws back, eyes alight. “Oh, _good_ morning.” There is something almost wondrous in the way he studies Castiel. He goes still when Castiel leans over to kiss down his face, sighs when Castiel palms at his shoulders. He shifts, moves an arm to sweep a hand up and down Castiel's back. He has his eyes closed again, is nuzzling the side of Castiel's face. Finally nudges him lightly, “Gotta get up before they throw us out.”

>

The drive back is quiet, but without the tension that was previously there. Dean has the music on low, fingers tapping the rhythm against the steering wheel. Despite the vibrant energy he usually radiates, Dean also has a calm to him that Castiel has yet to find anywhere else. He watches Dean, unabashed. Dean blushes when he notices, rolls his eyes, “Dude, seriously.”

Castiel continues to watch him, enjoys the spread of warmth through his chest. Smiling, he says, “You look happy. I like it.”

Dean huffs out a breath of laughter, eyes bright with humor. He shakes his head in a rueful manner, “Can't take you anywhere.”

Castiel feels his expression soften at Dean's words. “Would you?” he asks, “Take me somewhere?”

Dean throws him a glance, looking at once flustered and confused. “Take you – like a date?”

Castiel hums, looks out the windshield while he contemplates what he means to say. “Yes and no. But if there is somewhere you'd like to go – with me. I'd like to do that.”

Dean is silent for a moment, shifts in his seat. His voice is quiet and low when he answers, “Okay. Okay, I'll think about it.”

Castiel watches him, worry seeping through his contentment. He frowns, uncertain, “Did I – ruin the moment?”

It has the desired effect; startling a laugh out of Dean and easing the tension that had briefly risen. “Dude, no. I just didn't expect – ” Dean shakes his head again, reaches over and squeezes Castiel's arm. His voice is softer when he says, “You're not ruining anything, Cas.” But he only visibly relaxes when Castiel takes Dean's hand in his, rubs over the knuckles and at the soft skin of the wrist. Dean does withdraw his hand after a few minutes though, ruefully, “Kinda need that to drive, Cas.” But the uncertainty is gone from his expression for now, his posture open and at ease for the rest of the drive.

>

Sam is working on files when they walk into the library, and is arguing with what sounds like Garth over the phone. He nods and smiles when he sees them, then goes right back to frowning at the stack of print-outs on the table. Castiel briefly smoothes a hand down Dean's back, “I'll get everything to the kitchen.” Dean shoots him a warm look, then moves to take a seat opposite Sam. Castiel takes the bags and gives the brothers a moment alone. Dean had stopped at a Walmart on the way back, because they had "left Sam alone with the fridge for days".

Sam knows about them, though so far he hasn't said anything. He does make strange faces at them sometimes, even though they never even kiss in front of others. He supposes he will have to ask Dean about it.

He's just set some water to boil on the stove when Dean comes up beside him, their hands brushing together. “Starting without me?” Dean is smiling, his eyes shine. He starts pulling groceries out of the bags, hands sure and careful around everything he touches. Castiel has yet to see Dean as relaxed anywhere else. Although he has come to realize Dean also cooks when he is sad, he always seems more approachable here. Wiping his wet fingers on his jeans, dipping a spoon into whatever he's creating. And Castiel thinks he understands, now. Knows now how it feels to starve, to be deprived of comfort.

It makes him want to draw Dean close. To stroke warmth and affection into his skin, soothe the wounds left behind by all the empty spaces.

Dean shoots him an amused look, “You okay there, Cas?”

Castiel nods, internally cursing human biology. He pushes away from the counter, strokes a hand over Dean's shoulders, who leans back into the contact. “I'm going to take a shower.”

>

Dean throws a dishtowel at Sam's head, unsuccessfully trying to get him to stop thumbing through files while inhaling his potatoes. But other than that Dean seems strangely subdued during dinner, almost distracted. He barely touches his plate, shoves Castiel away gently when he makes to help him with the dishes, “I got it, I got it.”

Castiel hesitates briefly, then leaves him to it. He changes into sleeping clothes and sits on his bed for a while, trying to read. It doesn't really work; his muscles feel jittery and his mind constantly wanders. He lies down, listens to the sounds of the shower going further down the hall. Finally, there's the opening and closing of a door, and then he is startled out of his thoughts by a soft knock on the door. Pushes back up in a sitting position, “Yes?”

Dean is standing in the doorway, clad just in his robe, boxer shorts and a soft t-shirt. He never comes into Castiel's room this late.

Even now, he doesn't walk in. Just stands there, gaze flickering nervously to Castiel and away again.

Castiel turns towards him, sets his feet on the floor. “Dean?”

Dean clears his throat, worries the loose strap of his robe between his fingers. His gaze darts aimlessly around the room, finally falls to the floor a little to Castiel's left. “I was wonderin' – tonight. If tonight, you wanted to sleep – y'know,” he makes a vague gesture at somewhere behind himself, shuffles his feet, a faint blush covering his cheeks.

“Yes,” Castiel says, instantly, heart already picking up speed.

Dean's eyes snap up to his, startled. He seems almost taken aback, “Right. Yeah. Right, I'll just be – ” He makes a half-step back, almost stumbles over his own feet. Finally turns to walk down the hall, scratching at the back of his neck.

Castiel sits there for a moment longer, skin tingling with excitement and sudden nerves. It's not quite like this is their first time, but it's their first time – here, at home. And only once have they gotten as far as rocking against each other, with Castiel the only one who had come. Startled into his orgasm when Dean had taken three of his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them. Dean had watched him shiver through the aftershocks, heated gaze shifting into something fond and amused, and shifted away from him.

Castiel rubs his hands down his thighs, takes a deep breath. Pushes up and switches his lamp off, follows Dean to his room.

Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed and with his body angled away from the door when Castiel enters. All lights besides the bedside lamp are off, softening every edge with its gentle glow. Castiel closes the door quietly behind himself, climbs on the mattress to kneel behind Dean.

Dean has taken off his robe. His breathing is flat and barely audible, shoulders tense. Castiel carefully presses himself against Dean's back, starts rubbing his hands up and down Dean's upper arms, “Hey.”

Dean sighs and leans back against him, tension slowly melting out of him. Castiel presses his mouth over the fabric covering Dean's shoulder, slowly kisses up his neck. Dean shivers against him, heart beating fast enough for Castiel to feel it. He rubs his thumb in circles over Dean's skin, “Dean, we don't have to –”

Dean shakes his head, takes a breath. “No, I want – I want to.” He pauses, shifts on the bed. “I'm not usually so – I dunno.” Voice quiet again, almost apologetic. Castiel stills, rests his forehead between Dean's shoulder blades.

“Tell me what you want.”

It takes a moment, but then Dean plucks at where Castiel's hands are still holding onto him, “That – keep doing that.”

Castiel obliges him, strokes all the way down to the backs of Dean's hands and up again, shifting closer until he is bracketing Dean in from behind. Dean's breathing grows ragged in no time; he's panting lightly by the time Castiel slips his hands under his t-shirt to caress them over his ribs. “Cas,” his voice rough and low, fingers twisted into the sheets. Gently, Castiel coaxes him to lie down on his back, Dean tugging him close to kiss him, open-mouthed and slow. Castiel breaks it off briefly to help Dean out of his shirt. Strokes over his chest, then kisses down to his hips, spurred on by Dean's soft sounds of pleasure. He runs his hands up and down the inner parts of Dean's thighs, lowers his head to mouth at the bulge of Dean's erection through his underwear. Dean's voice breaks around a moan, but then he tugs insistently at Castiel's hair, urging him away.

Castiel moves back up Dean's body, instantly concerned. “Dean?” Dean is blinking, eyes fever-bright, seemingly trying to slow down his breathing. Castiel takes one of Dean's hands, rubs over the knuckles in chagrin, “I overwhelmed you. I'm sorry.” Dean takes a deep breath, shakes his head, “No, it's – ” He cuts himself off, swallows. “Just – stay up here?”

Castiel nods, mutely. Hovers there in hesitation until Dean huffs out a soft breath, plucks at Castiel's t-shirt. He runs his hands up Castiel's back once it's free of the fabric, sighs against Castiel's mouth when he finally dares to lower his whole body onto Dean's. They rock slowly together, panting against each other's mouths, until Dean takes one of the hands Castiel had been caressing his thigh with. Places it against his waistband, voice thick, “If you want, you can – ” Castiel groans, rises up clumsily to remove the last bit of barrier between them. Dean fumbles for something under his pillow in the meantime, presses a package of lube against Castiel's fingers once he lowers himself over Dean again.

Castiel hands are uncoordinated with desire, Dean's uneven breaths hitting the side of his face, hot and distracting. Dean shudders under him when he finally wraps a hand around them both, makes a keening sound at the back of his throat. Castiel nuzzles at the side of his face, soothingly, strokes down Dean's arm to hold his hand. Dean's clutching at Castiel's back with the other, breath hitching on each upstroke, every time Castiel twists his wrist to rub over the heads. “Cas,” he's repeating, "Cas,” voice wrecked and barely above a whisper. His fingers clench around Castiel's when he comes, he makes a sound between a moan and a sob, his head thrown back. It's more than enough to pull Castiel with him; he sags against Dean, pleasure barreling through him in waves of warmth and light.

Dean is still clutching at his hand when Castiel comes back to himself, eyes screwed shut and face turned away from Castiel. Castiel hesitates, then lays his head on Dean's chest, strokes down Dean's shaking sides with his other hand until the hitch eases out of Dean's breathing. When he finally looks up again, Dean is blinking, his eyes still wet but his features relaxed. He smiles crookedly when he catches Castiel's gaze, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. Kinda, uh. Spaced out for a minute.”

Castiel watches him, revels in the warmth of Dean's body. The glow of him. “It's fine.”

He can tell Dean is close to falling asleep, watching Castiel through hooded eyes while he cleans both of them up with tissues from the nightstand. He catches Castiel's hands as soon as he's done, tugs him close and rolls onto his side, pushes his back against Castiel's front. Needs two tries to turn off the lamp, leans back when Castiel settles against him. Castiel strokes slow and steady at Dean's back, “That okay?” Dean makes a sleepy affirmative noise. Reaches for Castiel's other hand, skin whispering over fabric in the dark, until their fingers touch.

**Author's Note:**

> Darkness of hell, and of a night deprived  
> Of every planet under a poor sky,  
> As much as may be tenebrous with cloud,
> 
> Never made unto my sight so thick a veil,  
> As did that smoke which there enveloped us,  
> Nor to the feeling of so rough a texture;
> 
> For not an eye it suffered to stay open;  
> Whereat mine escort, faithful and sagacious,  
> Drew near to me and offered me his shoulder.
> 
> \- opening lines of Canto XVI (Buio d'Inferno; Darkness of Hell) in Dante Alighieri's "Purgatorio". It describes the third terrace of Purgatory in which the wrathful are being punished and walk around in acrid smoke, symbolizing how wrath had overcome their earthly lives through destroying their "light of reason". The prayer for the third terrace is the Agnus Dei : "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis... dona nobis pacem"/ "Lamb of God, you who take away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us... grant us peace".


End file.
